<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Queen of Wolves by inlovewithnight</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174221">Queen of Wolves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight'>inlovewithnight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David &amp; Leigh Eddings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:01:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Battle of Vo Mimbre, Polgara bows her head to Kal Torak and becomes his bride. </p>
<p>This changes everything, and nothing, as the game between the Necessities goes on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Polgara/Torak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Queen of Wolves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/gifts">phantomlistener</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is AU from the full canon in two ways: Polgara's choice at Vo Mimbre, and the dropping of canon from the book Polgara the Sorceress. I always hated that that book had Polgara's great moment actually turn out to be Poledra, so I left it out here. Sorry, Ghost of David Eddings, but you really fumbled on that one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Abjure thy father, Polgara, and come with me.</em>
</p>
<p>Since she had learned that one of her possible fates was as Torak’s bride, Polgara had spent more time than she cared to admit wondering how, exactly, she would bear it. Of course the God’s touch would take care of her conscious mind; she would be deliriously happy as his chosen and beloved, and no active thought of dissent or grief would ever be available to her again.</p>
<p>Deep down, though, she believed that she would forever be screaming. Some part of her would still know itself, surely. If Torak was all-powerful—if any God was—then surely things in the world wouldn’t have played out quite as they had, over history. Changes would have been made. The worst that mankind was capable of would have been stopped. Surely. </p>
<p>It wasn’t nearly so simple as that.</p>
<p>Torak turned his will upon her, wrapped it around her beating heart in her chest, and crushed her resistance as neatly as snuffing out a candle. His thoughts washed over her own as powerfully as the sea. She did not give way so much as she ceased to be what she was before, and became something else.</p>
<p>He did not impose his beliefs over hers, so there was no way for a hidden piece of her to cower beneath them, screaming. He simply showed her that everything she had ever learned or thought was wrong, and then rewrote them all, with his own view, which was correct by necessity and Necessity alike. </p>
<p>There was no screaming, because there was no portioning of her to create one who might scream. She came to Torak’s side whole, her hand in his, her smile true. </p>
<p>“My bride,” he said, gloating, triumphant. She saw nothing but his beauty and strength in triumph. She felt no horror, only love.</p>
<p>“My Lord,” she said, bowing her head to him. “I submit to thee, here, before these warriors and these walls of Vo Mimbre.”</p>
<p>“Mine armies stand on the edge of defeat, but I have taken the far greater prize this day. Thy fair hand, and beyond that, the victory in this Event.” He looked across the stretch of open ground before them, to where Brand and Belgarath still stood, gaping like children. “To have won thy love fills me with vigor anew, Polgara. I will muster these troops again and drive them forward to win the day.”</p>
<p>Something turned in her chest—not regret, not sympathy, but the echoing presence of Necessity, a space carved out by the one she had served before and now held by Torak’s own, reaching through the bond between her soul and his. “May I ask a boon of you, my Lord?” she asked. “To celebrate our troth.”</p>
<p>His eye-that-was narrowed, but he stayed his hand a moment. “You may ask, beloved.”</p>
<p>The Dark Necessity turned again, placing the idea in her mind even as she spoke. “Drive these last few men from the field with thy power, and then let us retire from this place. Let us return to the lands of thy people, yeah, even unto Boundless Mallorea itself. You have thy victory in what truly matters, my Lord. The Child of Light hath bowed to you this day. Let us celebrate and begin preparations for the next meeting to come.”</p>
<p>He stared at her for a moment, one eye burning and the other clear. She could all but see the Necessity working within him, struggling to turn his will to what was needful. Torak was no human, to be pushed about with clever wordplay and threats to the world. He was a God. Even Necessity must tread lightly to bind him.</p>
<p>“It shall be as you say, my beloved,” he said at last, returning Cthrek Goru to its scabbard. “We will prepare for that as-yet distant next Event—and for our wedding, when thy eternal bondage to mine heart and will shall be made formal, and ringed in iron.”</p>
<p>Polgara bowed her head again. She knew, without turning her eyes, that Brand and her father had retreated from the battlefield, heeding the call of their own Necessity as it sought to regroup after this grievous loss. </p>
<p>She thought she might hear the echoes of the wolf’s howls for as long as she lived.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Mallorea was beautiful. Every feature of the West that had ever pleased the eye was present here as well, but on a far greater scale, until it pressed the limits of what the human eye and mind could fathom. Torak led Polgara and his generals on a grand tour of the continent, depositing the remains of each unit of his army where they had originally come from. There were not so many returning soldiers that it made much of a difference to the shattered population of women, children, and elders who had survived being left behind in the first place. The continent’s seeming emptiness added to its beauty, honing the sense of something wild and untouched.</p>
<p>Their means of travel was not the most pleasant she had ever found; Torak had brought his great metal castle back from the West in his army’s withdrawal, and insisted on continuing to ride in it about Mallorea even as he had while at war. The castle reeked of iron. Given that it was doing its best to rust to powder around them, it left streaks on Polgara’s skin, clothing, hair. It rattled and clanked constantly, its movement over rough places in the road was bone-jarring, and the death toll it took on the horses that pulled it was truly astonishing. </p>
<p>It was how Torak wished to be seen by his people, however, and so it was. Polgara folded her hands in her lap, gazed upon her betrothed’s face, beautiful in its sleek mask again, and endured.</p>
<p>At each stop, Torak left the castle and spoke to his people, reminding them in his booming voice that their sacrifices and losses were in service to a greater good, and that they would be rewarded in the fullness of time. The Grolims would conduct a sacrifice. Then Torak would call Polgara out from the castle and present her to the crowd as his chosen wife. The people, already kneeling for their God, would abase themselves before His lady. The Grolims would conduct a second sacrifice, in her honor as well as Torak’s. And then they would move on again.</p>
<p>Polgara kept silent, personal notes on the peoples they visited. If Torak wanted her observations, he could ask for them, or reach into her mind and take them; she had not the faintest intention of keeping a secret. He had known these people far longer than she; she would not bore him with her observations of things he surely already knew.</p>
<p>The Angaraks of Mallorea, such as they were, showed loyalty and piety, and could be trusted as much as anyone could, in her estimation. The Karands were at best halfway civilized, and showed every indication of relapsing into demon-worshipping anarchy at the first excuse. They would require close watching. </p>
<p>The Melcenes clearly thought themselves superior to all others, and would benefit from a much harsher hand to put them in their place. Their arrogance was breathtaking, and dangerous. Should her thoughts ever be requested, Polgara would unhesitatingly advocate for crushing the Melcenes.</p>
<p>As for the Dals…</p>
<p>Well. Her knowledge from her years as a daughter of Belgarath, a chosen daughter of Aldur, and a sister to the other disciples who had listened to their endless discussions, she knew that the Dals played a far deeper game than it seemed. It was hard to remember that, though, when looking at the near-silent, sheeplike occupants of mud-and-wattle villages, farming their crops with sticks and unable to keep a calendar by anything but the moon.</p>
<p>Her intellect insisted that the Dals required even harsher treatment than the Melcenes—they should be not only crushed, but wiped from the earth. Her gut, though, and the fruit of her own observations as they moved through Dalasia, said that there could be no threat from these weak-willed, weak-minded people, and they might as well be left to their devices as breeding stock for armies and the sacrifices. She couldn’t be certain which answer she would give if Torak asked her. </p>
<p>But he never asked, and so she kept her thoughts to herself. Thoughts couldn’t spoil or rot, after all. There would be there if she ever needed them.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>When the tour was completed, they returned to Ashaba. The generals entreated their king and God to come to Mal Zeth, the traditional seat of the Empire, but Torak had no interest in the city. “The man who calls himself Emperor may rule the day to day workings of mortal lives,” he said. “I have no interest in this. My gaze falls on more important things, and when I have tasks to dictate to my people, thou wilt <em>know</em>, and obey without hesitation.”</p>
<p>The generals couldn’t argue with that. They had seen what became of those who argued with, displeased, or merely annoyed Kal Torak, and being men who wished to see another sunrise and keep their hearts intact in their chests, they bowed, pledged their undying fealty, and rode away to the capital.</p>
<p>Polgara was amused by their capitulation, pleased by their submission, dazzled by the scenery around her, overawed by her God and husband—her mind was at sea in a flood of emotions that seemed to be accompanied by matching choruses of voices shouting their feelings at the top of their lungs. It left her in a constant cacophony that made it impossible to concentrate her Will, or indeed muster her thoughts in any order. There was no need for that, after all; Torak had enough thought and will for them both.</p>
<p>Their journey had been interrupted several times each day for prayer and ceremony, but Torak waved the Grolims aside when they attempted to stop again on the road to Ashaba. “Hold off on this until we reach our destination,” he said, dismissing the portable altar with a wave of his hand that sent it to the unfathomable place where the Gods kept such things as they needed. “Thou shalt re-consecrate the altars of Ashaba, and celebrate my victory and my bride by offering up a great number in sacrifice. Thy love for me is pleasing unto my eye and mind, my children, as pleasing as the fair smell of the burnt offerings raised in my name.”</p>
<p>The Grolims fell on their faces and swore to do as they were told, as if there was any chance of anything else. Polgara wanted to laugh, watching them grovel in the dirt. No wonder Torak required proof of their dedication through sacrifice of their fellows. Their efforts to worship in more prosaic ways were pathetic, not holy. </p>
<p>Torak waved the Grolims out of his way and gestured for the driver of the great metal castle to continue making its rattling way down the road to Ashaba. </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The House of Torak was, to put it bluntly, a rotting hulk. Polgara walked slowly through its corridors and examined each room, building out a mental plan for the amount of labor and trouble it would take to bring it to her standards of habitable. </p>
<p>Torak’s will had not become hers in this area, it seemed, perhaps because it was of no interest to him. He didn’t mind living in a tumbledown ruin; he didn’t even see it as such. His mind was on other things, and physical conditions were of no moment.</p>
<p>The rising and falling rushes of sound and emotion still filled Polgara’s mind, but removing the layers of dust from the house, at least, was a relatively small work of Will. She concentrated, drawing in enough Will to overcome the distraction, and translocated the lot of it to a nearby hilltop. The wind could disperse it from there, or not. At least it was no longer bothering her nose.</p>
<p>Torak’s voice burst into her mind, driving her to her knees in one of the great corridors. <em>What hast thou done, Polgara?</em></p>
<p>“Only cleaning, my lord!” Her chest ached, heart and breath twisting painfully under Torak’s displeasure. “As chatelaine of the house, I thought it my duty to do so!”</p>
<p>The pressure of his mind eased a bit. <em>Cleaning? Is this of importance to you?</em></p>
<p>“Only if it pleases you, my lord.”</p>
<p>His displeasure faded into puzzlement, and Polgara was able to draw breath freely again. <em>It is of no matter to me. But if it please thee, continue. A warning, though—limit thy use of power to such small tasks only, Polgara, or thou risk displeasing me. Understood?</em></p>
<p>“Perfectly, my lord.” She sat up, brushing her hair off her face. “I swear I will not go against your will.”</p>
<p>Smug pleasure rolled through him like flames, and his presence withdrew back to the great chamber where he sat among his books and scrolls.</p>
<p>Polgara got to her feet and smoothed her skirts, finally lifting her eyes to find a pair of Grolims standing at the end of the corridor, watching her with amusement on their faces. “Truly, a gift from our God, to watch the mighty Polgara grovel on the floor,” one of them said. “It’s worth the whole miserable, stinking war to see this, don’t you think, Aschar?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” Aschar said, his mouth twisting into a grimace that might have been a grin. “I would cross that ocean all over again for this reward.”</p>
<p>They laughed, and turned to go. Polgara cleared her throat. “Aschar, is it? And what is your friend’s name?”</p>
<p>They turned back to her. “Ralchik,” the second man said. “What business is it of yours?”</p>
<p>“Aschar and Ralchik.” She nodded. “Grolims of the purple, assigned to Torak’s personal sanctuary at Ashaba. You’ll be the start of my list, gentlemen.”</p>
<p>They glanced at each other, frowning. “What list is that?” Ralchik asked.</p>
<p>“People whose still-beating hearts I want as a wedding gift.” She smiled as their expressions froze. “My husband-to-be has no limits on his giving, you know. I’m quite sure that a carefully curated list won’t be outside the bounds of his generosity.”</p>
<p>“My lady,” Aschar said weakly, just as Ralchik gasped, “My queen—”</p>
<p>“Go away,” she said, turning to study the threadbare tapestry on the nearest wall. Another minor exercise of Will, within the bounds Torak had given her. She concentrated, gestured, spoke, and the image in the threads bloomed anew.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The wedding was a brief event, but as sumptuous as any Mallorean Empress could have wished, and more. Torak summoned for his bride a dress of deep blue silk, finer than any that could be woven by human hands, trimmed in lace of complexity that would have defeated even a terribly clever spider. Sapphires and pearls provided accents here and there, and a silver diadem studded with diamonds crowned her hair.</p>
<p>The dress was belted with a silver chain, the symbolism of which troubled Polgara not at all. Outward indication of her surrender to her God was only right.</p>
<p>As King and God, Torak needed no one else to perform the ceremony. He spoke the words of their binding himself, his voice booming out over the audience of Grolims gathered in the courtyard before Ashaba. His disciples were there, quietly fuming in the front row. Polgara didn’t bother to conceal her smile when she looked at them. She was ascendant, victorious; they were nothing. Even Zedar’s status as the only disciple to be trained by two masters was lost to him now. He was only taking up space.</p>
<p>The Dark Necessity apparently worked, in one way, similarly to the Light. She suddenly knew what her next task was and how she should go about it, with a simple, effortless click of awareness tucked away in her mind until it was needed.</p>
<p>Torak finished his benediction and stretched out his hand to her. Polgara dropped gracefully to her knees, reaching up to catch his hand and hold it between her own, pressing kisses to his knuckles.</p>
<p>“Please, my lord. Might I ask a boon of you this day? A wedding gift.”</p>
<p>“Thy raiment was not enough, Polgara?” His voice was rich and stormy with amusement. “Speak. Tell me of thy further desires.”</p>
<p>She smiled, keeping her head bowed at just enough of an angle to hide her eyes. “If it please thee, my lord, I would ask for your disciple, Zedar, once known as Belzedar, in another land.”</p>
<p>Zedar’s shout of rage was easily ignored by all concerned. Torak frowned down at Polgara in puzzlement. “Zedar? Of what use is he to you, my beloved?”</p>
<p>She allowed him to see her smile now, letting it grow slowly as she met his eyes. “You have no further need of him, my lord. Anything else you need to know of Aldur, of the Orb, of the Light’s Necessity, I may tell you now. My knowledge is deeper and more recent. I have everything you need. Zedar may be cast away effortlessly for you, with no trouble at all. But it would amuse me to play with him.”</p>
<p>“Master!” Fear threaded through the rage in Zedar’s voice now. “No! Do not allow this woman to challenge our work and our plans!”</p>
<p>Torak turned slowly away from her, staring at his disciple with the chilly scorn of his good eye and the baleful flame of the eye-that-was-not. “Our plans? <em>Our</em>? Thou standest above thy station, Zedar. There is no <em>our</em>, now or in the great image of the future that lies in the power of the Necessity. There is only <em>me</em>, my work, my strength, my tasks as the Child of Dark!”</p>
<p>He took a single step toward Zedar, and the ground shook under that step. Polgara stole a glance at Urvon and Ctuchik; they looked ready to sprout feathers and flee within a heartbeat.</p>
<p>“Thou art <em>nothing</em>, Zedar,” Torak said, and he jerked one hand in a sharp gesture. </p>
<p>There was no sound, no outflux of Will that Polgara could feel. The Gods were different that way. But Zedar hurtled across the courtyard and fell at her feet, screaming, and she could tell from the horror in his eyes alone that his power had been ripped from him with that gesture. He was only a man, groveling on the flagstones—an old man, at that. </p>
<p>And he was hers.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Taking someone apart, physically and mentally, was the opposite of what Polgara had spent decades of her life learning to do. Enacting her techniques essentially in reverse was an interesting practice. She found that she understood the body and mind much better afterward, now that she knew how to disassemble them as well.</p>
<p>She brushed her hand over the trembling mess that remained of Zedar and stopped his heart. Perhaps Torak would not have offered that mercy, but it occurred to her, so she did it. Her husband either didn’t mind or was deep enough in communion with his Necessity that he didn’t notice; at least, there was no backlash of anger or burst of pain to punish her act.</p>
<p>“Take this away and dispose of it,” she said, knowing there would be at least one Grolim hovering about and keeping watch on her. She moved away from where she had been working and looked out the window of her chamber, which offered a stunning view of the mountains. “And have a horse readied for me. I wish to ride.”</p>
<p>“Is that permitted, my lady?”</p>
<p>She didn’t bother to look; one Grolim was much like another, and if Ralchik and Aschar hadn’t spread the word as of yet, she would make a more pointed example of this one.</p>
<p>He shrieked when his shoes caught fire, running around the room stomping his feet. “No!” he cried. “Please, Lady Polgara, no!”</p>
<p>She held the fire for another moment, to emphasize her point, then dismissed it and turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “Dispose of the body,” she said slowly and clearly. “And have a horse readied for me. I trust there aren’t any questions this time?”</p>
<p>Indeed not. The Grolim fled, and Polgara resumed her contemplation of the view for perhaps another quarter of an hour, at which point she changed from her gown into a riding habit and made her way to the stables.</p>
<p>Torak had no interest in or need for horses, of course, so the stable was full of somewhat questionable beasts belonging to the Grolims. The one saddled for her was adequate, but no better than that. “Send someone to purchase a better horse for me,” she told the grim-faced servant who served as stablemaster. “Cost is irrelevant. Fine-tempered bloodstock, with a good head, and sure-footed. Color doesn’t matter, and I don’t care if it’s a mare, gelding, or stallion.”</p>
<p>He bowed slightly. “It may take time, my lady. Bloodstock aren’t kept much in this region. I may have to search as far as Mal Zeth.”</p>
<p>Ordinary humans were far easier to deal with than Grolims. “As long as the effort is being made. Thank you.” She swung into the saddle and started the ugly little mare toward the path into the mountains. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”</p>
<p>“Shall we send word to the Kal?” he asked, suddenly, visibly uncertain. </p>
<p>She hid her smile. “My dear man, he knows. Never think there is anything he doesn’t know.”</p>
<p>Autumn had come to this part of Mallorea, and the trees were all in their brightest finery as she rode into the mountains. She let the horse keep to a shuffling jog, not trusting its step on the rough path, and contented herself with admiring the scenery and breathing in the crisp, clean air. She had banished the dust from Ashaba, but the stale scent of an old house lingered, and the dead ground and fungus surrounding the building did little to help.</p>
<p>“Well, well.” The voice came from above her, to the right of the path, and she pivoted her horse toward it, gathering her Will. “The Queen of the Damned goes for a ride.” </p>
<p>Polgara froze. “Uncle Beldin?”</p>
<p>“Let’s dispense with the ‘Uncle,’ girl.” He was seated on a limb in an aspen, leaning back against the trunk and glaring at her. “We’re not family anymore. Your choice.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shook her head, holding back her frustration with grim effort. “None of you do. I see that now.”</p>
<p>“You see ghosts and shadows that Burnt-face put in your head. He took out all of the good sense to make room, I guess.” He spit into the bushes. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to your father?”</p>
<p>“My father understands that serving destiny is not a matter of choice.”</p>
<p>“It was never your destiny to serve that monster!”</p>
<p>She shook her head, pity washing through her at the sight of the little old man’s face twisting in grief. “Dear Beldin. If it wasn’t my destiny, it wouldn’t have happened, would it? This is what was meant to be. I know that the ways of Necessity can be difficult to accept, but we must. That’s the only way we can endure in this world.”</p>
<p>“Why couldn’t you resist him?” he shouted, nearly losing his perch on the branch. “Dammit, Polgara, why!”</p>
<p>She curled her fingers in her horse’s mane, suddenly and devoutly wishing she had not left Ashaba. “He is a <em>God</em>, Beldin.” She shook her head. “You must accept—you <em>all</em> must accept that this is what was meant to be.”</p>
<p>He wiped his hand roughly over his face. “I should have known better than to come here.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“I suppose you could summon Burnt-face here with the blink of an eye and have him stomp me into a fine sand.”</p>
<p>Polgara didn’t understand why she hadn’t already done that. Or even more puzzling—why hadn’t Torak sensed Beldin’s presence through her and come raging to her side to destroy one of his oldest enemies?</p>
<p>“Did Aldur send you?” she asked. From the flicker in Beldin’s expression, she knew that regardless of what he might say, the answer was complicated.</p>
<p>The old man chose honesty, which made her chest ache. “In a way. He didn’t give me a list and a map, but I’ve had dreams. And a message to give to you one way or another.”</p>
<p>She lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose it makes sense that he won’t speak to me directly anymore.”</p>
<p>“He can’t. There are rules.” Beldin got to his feet, balancing carefully on the branch. “But the other Gods aren’t powerless, even if they can’t walk in this world anymore. Aldur asked UL if he could set a rule of his own, and UL—and the Necessities, I suppose—agreed to it.”</p>
<p>“Get on with it, Beldin,” she said. “What’s this rule? I assume it’s related to me.”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” His expression changed, taking on the blankness of someone speaking for powers beyond themselves. His next words carried just a bit of Aldur’s voice, an echo at most, but still it was enough to nearly drive her from her saddle to the ground. “Polgara. The law, agreed to and set by those who may, makes it so that in the normal course of the world, thou must remain on this side of the Sea of the East, and thy father must remain on the other. Neither of you shall cross the middle point of the Sea to enter the other continent. In this way, events and Events will be kept to their assigned tracks, without inviting rogue happenings driven by conflict between thy two most powerful hearts.”</p>
<p>She sat in silence until Beldin’s face regained its own sharpness. “In the normal course of the world,” she said. “So if it’s in service of an Event, driven by necessity, the rules change. For example, when the Ancient and Beloved is supposed to lead the Godslayer to Cthol Mishrak.”</p>
<p>Beldin slumped wearily against the tree trunk, shaking his head. “We don’t even know if that’s still on the table. That meeting might take place somewhere else entirely.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps no God will be slain at all.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see.” He gathered himself up and shook his arms as if preparing for a great burst of work. “Message delivered. I’ll be going then.”</p>
<p>“It’s best if you do. I can’t imagine Torak will go much longer without looking in on me.”</p>
<p>“You really think he loves you, girl?”</p>
<p>“He owns my heart, Beldin.” She shrugged. “That’s all that I know or need to know.”</p>
<p>“Disgusting.” He stretched out his arms and shimmered into the form of the blue-banded hawk, then launched himself up into the sky, toward the mountain peaks and away.</p>
<p>Polgara held her horse at a slow walk on the way back to Ashaba. It helped her keep her emotions in similar check. There was no reason to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed, she reminded herself over and over. What would be, would be. Her new place in all of it was at Torak’s side.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Time passed in the usual way. Torak worked with his books and his Necessity, seeking ways to bend the paths of events and Events to favor the Dark. Polgara kept Ashaba in working order, walked and rode in the mountains, and pursued quiet studies of her own. Nothing that touched upon things significant to the great course of the world, of course; that was forbidden to her and she would respect her husband’s wishes. But science, literature, philosophy, and the endlessly complex topics dismissed as women’s handwork—those were more than enough to pass several decades.</p>
<p>Her next visitor from the West and her past came perhaps eighty years after her marriage. She was walking in the mountains, enjoying the mild exertion and the chatter of the birds. Western or Mallorean, it meant nothing to birds. Their concerns were the same everywhere.</p>
<p>She stopped at a turn in the path where several boulders had worn down to form a natural seat. She spread her cloak over it and settled in to rest for a bit and watch the clouds scuttle across the sky and let her thoughts drift. The occasional burst of news from a songbird, or grandiose speech from a hawk, offered comforting background noise. A profound contentment bloomed in her chest; this sort of moment, this sort of contemplation, was what she had been made for.</p>
<p>She didn’t notice the wolf until it was mere yards away; such contentment could prove itself a trap. It was a female, on the small side, but healthy and well-fed—a wolf with no reason to be traveling alone, much less to approach a human out of the blue. That put her on her guard before she was able to discern the shimmering nimbus of light surrounding the wolf, made faint by the mountain sun.</p>
<p>“Mother,” she said aloud, in human words. “You shouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>Poledra sat on her haunches and transformed into her human shape. “There was no binding placed on me,” she pointed out mildly. “Aldur restricted only you and your father.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say you can’t be here. I said you shouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“There are things we must discuss, Polgara.”</p>
<p>“No.” For perhaps the first time in her life, Polgara met her mother’s eyes without looking away. It was unthinkably bad etiquette for a wolf. Only the steel of Torak embedded in her soul gave her the strength to do it now. “There are not.”</p>
<p>Another first: she saw her mother look startled. “You defy your mother?”</p>
<p>“I am a woman grown with my own house.” Her tongue faltered on the last word, desperate to say <em>pack</em>. “I am my husband’s wife first, not my mother’s daughter.”</p>
<p>“You are <em>always</em> your mother’s daughter.”</p>
<p>“This isn’t going to accomplish anything.” She got to her feet and gathered up her cloak, using it to hide the shaking of her hands. “You should return to UL’s caves and take up your work again. How are the children of Riva’s line? Which of you is guarding them now? Where are you keeping them? I’m sure that’s more than enough to keep you busy.”</p>
<p>Poledra’s mouth set in a grim line. “You won’t learn anything about them from me, Polgara. Only know that the line continues, as does the work.”</p>
<p>“Torak’s work continues as well.” She met her mother’s eyes again and then turned away, starting down the path back to Ashaba. She did not permit herself to look back, or to let her trembling spread through her entire body, until she had rounded the first turn in the path.</p>
<p>Something had to be done. She couldn’t bear another such meeting.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The problem couldn’t be taken to Torak directly, of course. Any reference to the idea that the followers of the Light were on Mallorean soil, working to undermine his plans as much as his disciples and Grolims worked in the West, would send him into a towering rage that prevented anything from being done for days. Polgara would have to move him toward taking action without making it clear what that action was meant to accomplish.</p>
<p>When she next had an audience with him, she kept her eyes carefully lowered and her hands clasped in her lap. The role of demure, obedient wife felt natural and unnatural at once—it was her duty to her lord and husband, and of course she worshipped him completely, but having a goal of her own seemed to have awakened a shred of rebellion in her without his notice.</p>
<p>A traitorous thought flickered through her mind—perhaps Torak was not an all-powerful God, if he couldn’t hold her completely in thrall after less than a century.</p>
<p>He went still even as the thought formed, and she frantically banished it. “My lord?”</p>
<p>“Are you quite all right, my queen?” His voice was distinctly more displeased than concerned. “Thy mind feels strange to me.”</p>
<p>She clenched her hands tighter together, until the joints ached. “I had an unsettling encounter on my walk today, my lord.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He frowned. “What could possibly unsettle the most powerful and dearly beloved woman in the world? My power will ensure thy safety no matter what, Polgara.”</p>
<p>“Of course, my lord. I never doubt that.” She took a careful breath. “It was only that I saw a wolf in the woods.”</p>
<p>“A wolf?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” She brushed the back of one hand over her cheek, as if dismissing tears. “I find that the sight of them brings me grief, my lord. Unnecessary memories of the past. My… my father was quite fond of that form, you may recall.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” He sat very still for a moment, the flames of the eye-that-was-not flaring brighter. “It is not my wish that thou should grieve, my queen,” he said finally. “I shall ensure that the beast of the woods does not trouble thy thoughts again.”</p>
<p>His tone should, perhaps, have warned her that his solution to the problem was not one that she could have conceived of. He operated on the level of the Gods, after all.</p>
<p>Torak issued an edict, sent directly to the mind of every Grolim priest in the lands of Angarak. Wolves were anathema from that moment forward. Every wolf seen in the Angarak kingdoms—the wastes of Cthol Murgos, the windswept lands of Mishrak Ac Thull, the forests of Gar Og Nadrak, and all of boundless Mallorea—was to be killed. From the elders to the pups. Every one.</p>
<p>To ensure that the faithful had reason to take up the work, a wolf pelt could be used to buy one’s way out of the sacrifice.</p>
<p>The slaughter was immediate, and thorough.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The finest of the initial wave of furs were sent to Ashaba, of course, where the handmaidens dedicated to Polgara turned them into a series of gorgeous cloaks and wraps. A closet the size of an entire barn was full of wolf-skin garments to shield the Queen of Angarak from any cold she might encounter in her reign.</p>
<p>At first Polgara tried to avoid the room, and the delicately-stitched corpses of what were, in many ways, her cousins. But when winter came, Torak insisted that she appear before his disciples and the hierarchs of the Grolims, as a demonstration of his power and her own beauty.</p>
<p>“Is she not magnificent?” he demanded, holding her hand above her head while she turned in a slow circle to show off the cascade of furs. “My will hath tamed the wilderness of all Mallorea, and my queen reaps the beauty of it. Surely thou all see the meaning.”</p>
<p>Polgara completed her turn and looked out over the men with eyes of ice. They were murmuring variations on <em>yes, of course, my lord</em>, even though in all likelihood not one of them could have summarized their God’s meaning at all. Polgara certainly couldn’t. Torak continued to be a madman, with the whisper of destiny in his ear.</p>
<p>The livestock of Mallorea thrived in a land without wolves, but the vermin bred nearly unchecked. Foxes, coyotes, and feral dogs thrived; wildcats, panthers, and bears made their way down from the mountains and out of the forests, and tigers spread beyond the edges of the Melcene jungles. Perhaps in time, the numbers would balance themselves, but Polgara didn’t think there was any way to be certain. The world was so much more delicate than humankind ever was willing to believe.</p>
<p>She could hear the hierarch of Melcena talking in a low voice to a high Grolim priest of Karanda about the consequences of the slaughter. Deer were overwhelming their grazing and moving in on the crops in the fields. A matching slaughter would have to be perpetuated on them, which would flood the region with venison and drive cattle farmers to devastation. Such cycles would cut through the economy like tornadoes for years, until nature stabilized itself.</p>
<p>Polgara accepted a glass of Karandan ice wine and stood alone, silhouetted in her fur against Torak’s throne. All eyes in the room flickered to her at least once every few moments. Her pleasure and displeasure were the heart of Angarak right now; the slaughter had proven that, and Zedar’s death before it. All who laid eyes on Polgara, Queen of Angarak, did so and trembled.</p>
<p>She found it was a feeling she was getting used to.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The wolf form of Poledra did not come to her again, but she saw the blue-banded hawk more than once, and though she wasn’t entirely certain, a white shape seemed to drift outside her window now and again. Snowy owls were not native to this place.</p>
<p>She saw two eagles flying together more than once, and that made her wonder, too. The twins had never shown any sign of having a preferred animal form when she had lived in the Vale; they had no need of one, as they rarely went into the world. But things were different now. Who was to say they weren’t taking a turn of duty in monitoring her?</p>
<p>At least she could be sure that no lone animal that seemed to watch her with troubled eyes was Belgarath. Her father would not defy Aldur any more than she would. It was something to rely on.</p>
<p>Paranoia grew in her bones, slowly and inexorably. She found herself reaching for the wolf-skins more often, wrapping herself in them as a shield made of Torak’s power and love for her. He had defied the natural order of things itself, as made physical in these furs. True, it might lead to disaster—but wasn’t it the intent that mattered?</p>
<p>She slept less, walking the corridors of Ashaba late into the night and then early into the mornings. She continued her walks and rides in the mountains, but there was less pleasure in them; every hawk and eagle was a potential spy, and the forests and mountains here were dense with them.</p>
<p>Years passed; news from the West came and went. The Alorns bumbled along; the Arends continued their endless war; the Tolnedrans sought to make politics into economics and open trade with the Angarak kingdoms, all unknowing that they were creating a wound to seep poison into the lands of Torak’s brothers. There was no God so myopic as Nedra. </p>
<p>When Torak was feeling lighthearted and could be coaxed into telling stories of his fellow Gods, he always had mockery for his lion-totemed brother. How could anyone have respect for a God so fixated on pointless trade, a concept that could be eliminated with a single divine gesture? Any of the Gods could send their children back to rooting in the dirt to feed themselves and no more.</p>
<p>“Not so, my lord,” said Urvon, who had come to Ashaba to grovel at his Master’s feet for a while. “Only you might do that at the present. Your brothers foolishly limited themselves, and have no power over their children anymore.”</p>
<p>Torak looked at him for a long moment, the eye-that-was-not flaring balefully and then calming again. “Well that thou finished that though, my son,” he said finally. “If thou had halted after contradicting me, I may well have removed thy head.”</p>
<p>Urvon cringed and bowed his head, fear twisting his features. “Forgive me, my lord. I will take more care with my tongue.”</p>
<p>“See to it.” Torak sighed and settled back in his throne, rubbing his forehead with his remaining hand. “My queen,” he said after a moment. “Come to me.”</p>
<p>Polgara stepped to his side, shooting a contemptuous glance at Urvon. She would have had his head anyway, finished thought or not. He hardly made any use of it anyway, the sniveling toady. “Yes, husband?”</p>
<p>“I am weary.” He pressed the heel of his hand firmly against his good eye, though the pain was in the one he could not touch. “The ache in my head is sharp tonight.”</p>
<p>“Do you wish for me to attempt to soothe the pain?” she asked cautiously. From the corner of her eye she saw Urvon’s face light up at her assured failure. Nothing in her knowledge of the healing arts extended to Gods; they could not heal.</p>
<p>Torak snorted. “Nay, my queen. No mortal sorcery can touch this ache. But perhaps thou couldst offer an entertainment of some sort. A distraction for my mind, that it not dwell so deeply on the foul, lingering vengeance of Cthrag Yaska.”</p>
<p>She could see enough of Urvon’s face to note his shock at Torak’s words. The God of Angarak had never shown even such a sliver of vulnerability before. Asking for distraction from his pain? And asking it of <em>Polgara</em>, a conquered enemy?</p>
<p><em>Not a conquered enemy, Urvon,</em> she though, her face carefully impassive. <em>His wife.</em></p>
<p>“Of course, my lord,” she said, raising her hand and gathering her Will. “Attend.”</p>
<p>The illusions she spun were simple enough; she didn’t add scent or the feeling of the breeze against skin, and the sound that accompanied them was muffled, as if heard across a great distance on a warm day.</p>
<p>The visuals, though, were intricate and detailed, showing the Angarak people going about their lives in quiet, peaceful times. She drew on her father’s stories about the time before the cracking of the world, placing the Angaraks in rocky, jagged country that hid fertile valleys among the hills. The people, blessed and blessed again by their God, prospered and multiplied. They tended crops, raised livestock, mined minerals from the earth, and crafted in metal, fiber, and stone. Children ran and played, raising their voices in joy. Men and women worked and sang, their voices rising and falling in hymns to Torak.</p>
<p>And of course there was the sacrifice, part of the timing that their world revolved around. Grolim priests, unmasked in those days, brought willing bodies to the altar. The sacrifices called out in praise of Torak before they submitted to the knife, inviting his glory to their souls as they died. The hearts burning on the altar demonstrated their devotion and utter service to their God. It was beautiful, in the same way the unforgiving rocky landscape was beautiful to eyes that knew it. Harsh and stark beauty was beauty still.</p>
<p>Torak sighed deeply, some of the tension going out of his body, and the flames in the eye-that-was-not eased a bit, settling toward the appearance of glowing coals. “Thou hast given a fine gift, my queen. So it was even in life, as I recall it. Those were happy days for me, and for my people. They prospered and lived well. They came to me with joy in their hearts.”</p>
<p>“So do they even now, my lord.”</p>
<p>He closed his eyes and settled back in his throne. “Let it continue for a while yet. The sounds are soft, yet pleasing to my ears. I would listen and remember.”</p>
<p>Polgara bowed her head and let the illusion continue to spin out in the empty space of the throne room. Urvon and the other Grolims had withdrawn at some point, unnoticed and unwanted. At least they had the common decency and sense to let their master reminisce and dream, taking the moment of pleasure and comfort that they were powerless to give him.</p>
<p>Polgara could, and did. Urvon would never understand the shape and nuance of her powers. He would never even know to want to. Ctuchik as well—and that was a weakness in them both, one that ran like an abscess down to their cores. That was why, in the end, she would remain standing after they both fell.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The Dark Necessity did not often come to her directly. She only suspected it paid her attention at all when strange moments came with knowledge she should not or could not have. In time, though, she realized that it also came to her in dreams.</p>
<p>She dreamed of warm, encompassing dark, of being wrapped in blankets and lying in a soft, peaceful bed. Concepts drifted about her in near-physical, yet shapeless, form—the idea of dark as a comforting, stable thing, that carried rest, that did not demand struggle and effort. Light was harsh, grating, a constant fight to climb mountains simply because they were there. Light never allowed for rest or contemplation. Light demanded change whether it was needed or not. Those who lived in the light were never satisfied, could never find peace. Dark was able to recognize when things were well, and hold them there, in a stasis that refused risk and pain.</p>
<p>Polgara awoke and summoned a cup of tea from the kitchen, cradling it in her hands and staring down into the liquid while she sorted through the remains of the dream. The Dark Necessity truly saw the world—the universe—differently than the Light did. How much had the children of Light missed by refusing to look at things from this point of view? Surely truth, if such a thing existed, existed between the two extremes, and incorporated them both. How had they never seen that?</p>
<p><em>Unfortunately the in-between is a concept we must leave to that which will follow us,</em> came the dry voice in her mind that belonged to the Dark. <em>After the Choice, the new Purpose may choose to take a step or two toward the middle ground. It will always lean toward the side that wins, of course. Otherwise there would hardly be a point. But it might be somewhat more flexible than my counterpart and I.</em></p>
<p>“I thought you only spoke to Torak.” She sipped her tea and closed her eyes. “Should I be flattered?”</p>
<p>
  <em>He believes that I only speak to him, and it’s necessary that it remain so. You may be flattered if you choose. It is of no matter to me.</em>
</p>
<p>“Do you have a task for me?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Not at present. But in the future, yes, you have several. It seemed like the proper time to make sure you understood the basis of what we’re working for.</em>
</p>
<p>“I think I do, now.”</p>
<p>
  <em>You do. Otherwise I wouldn’t be bothering to speak to you. I would still be working in your mind.</em>
</p>
<p>“Understood.” She took another sip and glanced up at the ceiling, as if the Necessity was hovering over her head. “Am I doing well in my role?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Better than you know. Your choice changed many of the paths ahead, and tilted several of them toward our side. It’s made things more exciting than they’ve been in eons, to be quite honest.</em>
</p>
<p>It was ridiculous to feel a glow of pride at that—she had done nothing other than live her life since the moment of that choice; the world changed around her, but she had not taken action as such—but she couldn’t help it, and there was no point trying to hide anything from the Necessity. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”</p>
<p><em>If there is, you’ll know it. I’ve placed all the necessary prompts and knowledge. </em> It was quiet for a moment, with a tension lingering as if it was distracted. <em>Ah. Torak requires my attention. Be well, Polgara.</em></p>
<p>It was gone.</p>
<p>She sank back against her pillows, her tea shivering in its cup between her shaking hands. There was so much ahead of her, always, and it was all such a small part of the whole. Thinking about the scope of what they were all embedded in was too much, sometimes, sorceress or no.</p>
<p>In those moments she desperately, desperately ached for her mother.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The years continued to pass. She knew, in a detached way rooted deep in her mind, where the Necessities planted their seeds, that somewhere in the West, the line of Riva and Beldaran endured. The Keepers of the Orb continued to be born, live, sire sons, and die, building the chain that would lead to the Godslayer.</p>
<p>That part of the prophecies endured, despite her coming over to the Dark. Neither her instincts nor Torak’s frantic studies had found a way to avert it. The efforts of his disciples, of course, were either pretense or useless. If the Necessity allowed it, she would hurl them both from the nearest mountaintop, but apparently It still had a use for them, somewhere down the future’s path.</p>
<p>The world turned. Seasons rose and fell. The ecosystems of Mallorea twisted and warped as they tried to recover from the death of the wolves. Polgara watched sunrises, sunsets, falling stars, looking for signs of what would happen and what was needed of her. She comforted Torak in his fear and pain. She waited.</p>
<p>Perhaps this was another part of what the followers of Light didn’t know, besides the comfort and safety of Dark. They viewed Torak as an implacable enemy, a monster. They didn’t know that he felt fear and pain. They didn’t know that he dreaded his destiny with fear as deep as a child’s. He was a God; he wasn’t meant to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to suffer as he had. Of course he sought every way he could, every possibility, to evade those things.</p>
<p>Fate was implacable and cruel. As his wife, she comforted him as best she could.</p>
<p>There came a night when the stars troubled her. She watched them for hours, trying to find what exactly it was in their pattern that was wrong, but she was no Seer, and in the end she gave up and retreated to her bed. Her chambers were grand and comfortable, of course, joining to Torak’s through a short passage that ran between them within Ashaba’s walls.</p>
<p>She had used that passage only rarely, but tonight, the Necessity drew her out of a restless sleep and sent her walking down it in the deepest hours of the night. She held her dressing gown about herself—thickly trimmed with wolf’s fur, of course, soft against her skin, reminding her of her origins, reminding her of the terrible strength of Torak’s love—and made her way to her husband’s rooms.</p>
<p>The door to his chambers was unlocked. She pushed it open easily, walked through the sitting room with its fire that consumed no wood or peat. She entered the God’s bedchamber. He had no need for sleep, of course. Keeping these rooms was a custom, its origin in wanting to be approachable to his children long, long ago.</p>
<p>He lay in his bed, the eye-that-was-not open and casting flickering, inverse shadows on the ceiling. He said nothing, but held his hand out to her.</p>
<p>Polgara took it, and let him draw her in. She was at peace, content, suffused with the Necessity’s presence and It’s absolute knowledge that this was what must happen, that this night had been awaited for eons beyond counting, that the King and God of Angarak would lie with his queen, and produce a child that one day would stand in the Place of the Choice and be elevated as the Guest that all of creation had been waiting for.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Polgara named him Zarak, and all of Angarak and Mallorea celebrated his birth. There was no limit to the celebrations across both continents and all the kingdoms. The sacrifices were doubled, then doubled again. Torak dictated an entire second Book of Angarak in honor of the birth of his son.</p>
<p>He had to know, on some level, that the presence of Zarak meant that his own death was assured. There was no need for a second God of Angarak if the first wasn’t to be slain. </p>
<p>But perhaps the Necessity shielded him from that knowledge, and bade him celebrate instead. Both of the Necessities had always presented to Polgara as cold and dry, but the Dark had dwelled with Torak for so long that perhaps it took pity on his fear and suffering. Perhaps it drew a veil over his fate, and let him have this piece of joy.</p>
<p>Her father would have said that Torak was simply deluded. Perhaps that was the truth. She chose not to see it as such, though. He was her husband, and the father of her only child to ever be. It suited her to be loyal.</p>
<p>Zarak was a dark-haired, dark-eyed baby, with a solemn face. He rarely laughed or smiled, but he was good-natured and obedient, taking in the ways of the world and fitting himself to them with a calm certainty. He grew faster than an ordinary mortal child, of course; when he was a year old by the calendar, he looked and behaved as a child of four. Part of Polgara grieved for the loss of time with him, but the rest of her accepted, as she always had, that whatever might happen, happened because it was necessary.</p>
<p>Ctuchik came briefly to Ashaba and reported that the day Zarak was born, Belgarath knocked over a small mountain in Cthol Murgos. He assured Torak that it was out of helpless, uncontrolled rage, and a sign that the old man would not be able to guide the Child of Light as he was supposed to. Polgara held her tongue.</p>
<p>She knew that her father went cold with rage, not hot. The emotion that could drive him to such wild extremes was grief, for what had been taken from him and placed far beyond his reach. He grieved for the grandson he would only ever meet as an enemy.</p>
<p>Polgara wondered if he knew that she had, at first, felt the same aching grief for the Godslayer, taken out of the reach of her arms.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>When Zarak was five in age, but perhaps thirteen in body and mind, Polgara had another dream.</p>
<p>She saw the West laid out beneath her, as if she stood in a great gallery looking down on the continent. Cities and villages were the size of toys; the herds of Algaria skittered about like ants released from a hill. She saw each of the Angarak peoples of the West going about their lives and duties, carrying out Torak’s will. She saw the Nyissans and Tolnedrans following the distorted instructions of their long-gone Gods; the Arends lost in endless violence of their own making, deaf to Chaldan’s exasperation; the Sendars living their well-blended, peaceful lives; and, of course, the Alorns, eternally held in place so that they could be the West’s strike force when the time came.</p>
<p>She looked down on the West for a long time, then found herself swooping through the air, drifting down over the land where Algaria met Sendaria. Awareness bloomed in her mind as she drew close enough to make out individual faces: this was the village where the Godslayer’s parents would meet. This is where the Godslayer would be born.</p>
<p>Had she been brought here to prevent it? She experimentally reached out at a passing man, and her hand passed through him without his awareness. Only a vision, then. She had no power or impact here.</p>
<p>Knowing that let her relax into the structure of the dream. She was propelled down the town’s narrow street, to a small house where an older woman was sweeping the porch. It was a drab little place, built of stone, and the inside had the look of a house that had once been carefully kept and cared for, but was now going to seed.</p>
<p>Polgara looked around the kitchen for a moment, then moved to the back of the house, where she heard men’s voices in soft conversation. They were familiar voices—among the first she’d ever heard—and sure enough, when she entered the main room of the house, she found Beltira and Belkira sitting at a large table strewn with parchment, their heads bent over a great codex. Its size suggested it was the Mrin, but the dream didn’t see fit to allow her to read the words on the page.</p>
<p>So her uncles had been pressed into the service of guarding the line, without any relief coming for their duties as interpreters of the prophecies. It was a great deal of weight to place on their thin shoulders, but she couldn’t find it in her to doubt that they would have done their duty for all these years.</p>
<p>“Uncles? I’m home.”</p>
<p>Polgara turned to look, her eyes widening as she saw the Rivan Heir enter his home, his arm around the old woman’s shoulders. His mother, then—her sorrow-lined face had brightened a bit with his appearance, which made sense, though she couldn’t be said to smile—</p>
<p>The twins rose from their work in identical motions, smiling at the Heir and offering matching warm embraces. “Geran,” Beltira said, and Belkira completed the thought, “How was your day?”</p>
<p>“Hard work, same as ever.” He smiled at them and moved past into the back room of the house, presumably where the family slept and kept their things. The twins carefully packed up their work and moved to the kitchen, Beltira telling the old woman to get some rest and that they would take care of dinner. The woman obediently sat in a chair by the window, looking out at the street, a strange, blank anxiety twisting her features.</p>
<p>Ah. So that was why the house had the signs of a home going downhill. The old woman’s mind was going, and she was no longer able to keep it, while the twins and the Heir had other things to do that kept them from taking up that part of the work even if they noticed it.</p>
<p>Polgara’s chest ached. She wanted to embrace the old woman, the old men, the young man who re-emerged in clean clothes and went to fetch water for the kitchen. She wanted to lash out at the walls of the house and leave them crumbled on the ground. She wanted to slit all four throats, to set the corpses afire, to deliver the ashes to Torak. She wanted to bring her son here to kill his rival’s father before the rival himself could even be conceived. She wanted to kill. She wanted to cry.</p>
<p><em>Let me wake up</em>, she raged silently, helplessly. <em>Stop this. Let me awake!</em></p>
<p>After what felt like a long, agonizing time, but was only a few minutes—the Heir hadn’t even returned with the water yet—the Necessity conceded, and she sat upright in her bed at Ashaba, tangled in wolfskins and her own hair, her throat choked with rage and grief.</p>
<p>The Godslayer was coming, soon. And now, passed along to her under cover of the dream, she knew what she had to do next, to prepare for him.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>She had long ago set aside a room in Ashaba where she could keep her medical texts, tools, and supplies. Like all of the rooms in Torak’s house, it was a large space, enough so that she had put a table at one end where she could grind materials with mortar and pestle, blend, dilute, or heat them as needed, and seal them away in bottles and jars while using sorcery and the broad windows to keep herself and the rest of the occupants of the house from inhaling any toxic fumes or dust that might be created in the processes.</p>
<p>Today she was glad for her foresight. The materials required for this task were the most toxic conceivable.</p>
<p>She put Zarak to bed for the evening and went down to her workroom, sealing the door behind her with a gesture before removing her dress and standing before the table in her chemise. Lengths and folds of fabric held too much chance of collecting powders while she worked, or catching the edge of a dish and knocking something volatile to the floor. Then she put her hair up, using a truly ridiculous number of pins to be sure not a strand would escape to distract her at a critical moment.</p>
<p>She conjured a pair of gloves made of cow’s gut, thin and delicate enough for her to work in but solid enough to keep the materials off her skin. It was essentially wrapping her hands and wrists in sausage casing, a thought that usually made her smile.</p>
<p>There was no time for that today.</p>
<p>She got to work with the contents of her black-marked jars, the ones sealed with lead and kept in the farthest corners of her cabinets. Blending them was a process to be approached with extreme care, as too much of one thing or another, even by the slightest pinch, could make them blow up in her face or produce a liquid that would eat through pestle and table, then the floor. Polgara worked swiftly but carefully, relying on the instincts of wolf and owl in the deepest parts of her to balance the danger with the strength to do what was necessary. </p>
<p>In the end, she produced a tiny amount of dark, viscous fluid, perhaps a half a finger’s width in the bottom of a clean jar. She waited for it to settle, until the surface was perfectly still, then used a pair of tongs to crimp a thin bit of metal over the mouth. It was a tentative seal, but the best she could do under the circumstances; she would need to access it too soon to bother with lead.</p>
<p>She wiped down the table, banishing the rag and dust to Cthol Mishrak, where it couldn’t hurt anything but Hounds and fungus. Then she put her dress back on, let her hair down from its structure of pins about her head, and slipped the jar into her pocket.</p>
<p>The next steps were where she would live or die.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>She should have realized that the Necessity would be with her. This was its plan, after all; it would not allow things to stray from the dictated path.</p>
<p>Torak sat in his throne, brooding over a black-bound codex. Polgara conjured a goblet of wine, dark and rich with the memory of summer sun and autumn frost that had kissed the grapes. With her back to the throne, she took the jar from her pocket and poured the dark liquid into the goblet, swirling the wine until the mixture formed a deeper shade of purple. She banished the jar to the same mountaintop she used for all of her refuse from Ashaba, and took a deep breath.</p>
<p>It was time.</p>
<p>She crossed to the throne and held out the goblet, bowing her head in pretty submission. “For you, my lord. The finest wine from Dalasia.”</p>
<p>He looked up at her, frowning, and she could read in his remaining eye his irritation that she would bother him with a human beverage, meant for human palates. A God had no need for wine. </p>
<p>But the Necessity was there, and not to be denied. Torak’s expression smoothed, the irritation fading into a peaceable confusion. He could no longer recall why he might not want a glass of wine. It was a pleasant enough concept, if a mortal one. Why not drink? Why not enjoy the product of his children’s labor, made in his name?</p>
<p>He took the goblet and drank deeply. Polgara sank into a deep curtsy before him. She fixed her eyes on the tiles of the floor, and waited.</p>
<p>After perhaps ten minutes, she lifted her gaze again. Torak was slumped in his throne, the goblet lolling dangerously in slack fingers. His good eye was closed, the eye-that-was-not glowing with a sullen, low glare. </p>
<p>The God of Angarak slept, and would sleep for some time. By Polgara’s estimation, he would sleep for twenty years.</p>
<p>That was as long as any of them had for the rest of their work.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>It was surprisingly easy to hide Torak’s state from the priesthood and the disciples. She simply said that he had withdrawn to his chambers and did not wish to be disturbed. He had done that before; twenty years was not an unreasonable amount of time to seek seclusion, for a God. He would re-emerge and speak to them when he was quite ready. Perhaps he would have new visions to reveal, then.</p>
<p>That was what she told the Angaraks, and they seemed happy enough to believe it. Their God looking away left more time for their own nauseating schemes, after all. They could use the faithful as they wished, for now, without fear of punishment. Polgara found them all disgusting. When Zarak took his place and came into his divinity, things were going to change, starting with every current Grolim and disciple of Torak losing several vital organs in short order.</p>
<p>Once Torak was in his bed, the door sealed, the word spread, she left Zarak with some books to study and rode out into the mountains. There was a high, grassy field that she quite liked, before the air thinned too much but after the tree line. It was an excellent place to think.</p>
<p>Today wasn’t just for thought, though. She still had work to do. She tethered her horse as the edge of the field and sat on a broad, flat rock, turning her face up to the sun and closing her eyes.</p>
<p><em>Beldin</em>, she thought, reaching out for the mind she had once known so well. <em>I need to talk to you.</em></p>
<p><em>Polgara?</em> His response was quick, but guarded; there was no chance of her being able to infiltrate his mind. Not that that was her goal, today.</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes, it’s me. I need to tell you a few things.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this meant to be useful, or just taunting?</em>
</p>
<p><em>Useful.</em> She wrapped her cloak around herself. <em>It’s in the service of Necessity.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Which one?</em>
</p>
<p>She bit back a sigh; why were men so frustrating? <em>Both of them, I suppose, or I wouldn’t be permitted to do this.</em></p>
<p>There was a long pause. <em>Fair enough. I’m in Mal Zeth. I can be at Ashaba in a few hours to speak face to face, if you aren’t going to have a line of Temple Guardsmen waiting to put a sword in my guts.</em></p>
<p><em>No swords.</em> She sent an image of the field. <em>I’ll wait right here.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>A hunting ground I know well. I’ll be there soon.</em>
</p>
<p>She settled herself as comfortably as she could and let her mind drift, guarded but moving easily over the land, observing what the birds and beasts of the mountains were up to. It was mildly irritating for Beldin to confirm so casually that he had spied on her over the years—how else would he know this field as a hunting ground?—but she had expected as much, after all.</p>
<p>By the time the blue-banded hawk dove to the grass a few feet away from her and shimmered into Beldin’s form, her backside was numb from sitting and her temper was distinctly more waspish than she intended. “Was there a cross-wind between here and Mal Zeth?” she asked. “It took you long enough.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t exactly sitting on my hams when you reached out,” he said grimly. “I was in the middle of something, and I had to wrap up loose ends in a hurry to get here. What is it that you want?”</p>
<p>“As I said, I need to tell you something. Several things.” She let the wolfskin cloak slip from her shoulders. “A lot is happening these days.”</p>
<p>“Don’t think I don’t know it. Signs and portents are everywhere. Dead Grolims are rattling in the ground all over Cthol Murgos. With any luck, the racket is giving Ctuchik a miserable headache.” He pointed at her cloak, his face twisting in an ugly scowl. “Do you have any idea what your husband did to the food chain with that particular bit of idiocy?”</p>
<p>“I do, yes, but it’s centuries too late to do anything about it.” She brushed her hand over the fur, grimly holding her emotions in line. </p>
<p>“It’s more than a little disgusting for you to wrap yourself up in their corpses like that, you know.”</p>
<p>“It was a gift. And it’s a reminder to me.”</p>
<p>“A reminder of what?”</p>
<p>“That I need to take care with what I say and do, because they won’t always be interpreted as I expected.” She curled her fingers into the fur, then pulled her hand away. “The slaughter was my fault, and I won’t forget that.”</p>
<p>“That’s more like it,” he said oddly, then hurried on before she could challenge his words. “So what else has happened? Did Burnt-face fall off his throne and give himself a God-class concussion?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly.” She smoothed her skirt with both hands. “But I did drug him, and he is comatose.”</p>
<p>“You what?”</p>
<p>“He’ll be asleep for the next twenty years.” She smirked at him. “Call me the God-poisoner, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“How did you do that? <em>Why</em> did you do that? Why would you sabotage your own side?”</p>
<p>She shook her head in disgust. “Oh, Beldin, use that brain you’re supposed to have. Do you think I <em>could</em> have done this without the instruction of Necessity? Of course not. And do you think it would have told me to if it went against our side’s best interests? Also of course not. This was something that had to happen.”</p>
<p>He studied her for a minute, eyes narrowed. “So it’s important that Torak be asleep when the Godslayer comes,” he said finally. “He didn’t fall at Vo Mimbre, so they found another way.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for remembering to be clever. If I had to lead you to the answer, we would be here all day.”</p>
<p>“Ha. Maybe not so long as you think.” He squinted up at the sky. “This has something to do with Belzarak, doesn’t?”</p>
<p>Her heart froze in her chest. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>For a moment there was real pity in his eyes. He was lucky it didn’t last, and that she was too stunned to gather her Will. “Did you not realize that there being two destinies for the universe means two destinies for him, too, Pol? There’s yours, and there’s ours. If he’s swayed to our side, Aldur will take him in. He’s the boy’s uncle, after all. You can’t just have demigods wandering around figuring things out for themselves.”</p>
<p>She managed to find her voice, as much as it hurt in her throat. “He will never be a disciple of Aldur.”</p>
<p>“Would it be so bad? You seemed to enjoy it at the time.”</p>
<p>“He is my son. He is Torak’s son.” Her throat closed for a moment and she bowed her head, struggling to master her emotions and her breath. “He’ll never be Belzarak. I won’t allow it.”</p>
<p>When she looked at him again, he was watching her closely, his eyes narrowed. At least the pity was gone, with only his customary sharpness remaining. “Is that anger or grief, Pol? Are you even sure? Do you know the difference anymore? You know the Master would take you in again if you came home. You can abandon all of this and come back. There’s a place for you.”</p>
<p>She shook her head, turning away for a moment to force her composure into place. This had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have thought of giving them any information at all. Perhaps she could blame the Necessity, but Its silence suggested that no, this folly was hers alone.</p>
<p>“I can’t ever come back,” she said. “Don’t fool yourself, Beldin.”</p>
<p>“We all have choices. Things can be fixed.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t have said that about Zedar.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she turned back to him. “Torak is asleep. Take that information back to the others and do as you like with it. Tell them that my son is my son, not a reclamation project for any of you, and that whomever comes near him will not survive.”</p>
<p>“I’ll pass it along.” He scratched at his hair and looked up at the sky. “I suppose as long as we’re sharing information—have you heard anything about the Gift that Must be Sought?”</p>
<p>She frowned, waiting for recognition to spring up in her mind, but nothing came. This wasn’t on her assigned list from the Necessity either, it seemed. “Not that I know of.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think you would be allowed to forget.” He sighed. “It’s one of those things that got rerouted when you switched sides. There was a plan set up to find whatever it is, and that got broken, so now something else has to come together.”</p>
<p>“Are there any hints about what this Gift is?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t tell you if there were.” He scratched again, then stepped back and shook out his arms. “I’ll be on my way, then. I suppose you tucked Burnt-face into a nice soft bed when you drugged him?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “Not especially soft, but he’s in his bed, yes.”</p>
<p>“Dump him out on the floor for me, would you? Since I’m carrying your messages and all?”</p>
<p>“No, Beldin.” A woman had to have a certain amount of respect for her husband, even if she was the one who put him in his current state. It mattered to Polgara that she live up to her own standards.</p>
<p>“Spoilsport.” Beldin shimmered into his hawk form and vanished into the sky without another word. Polgara watched him go, then went back to collect her horse from the edge of the field.</p>
<p>The day was nearly gone. It was time to collect Zarak, pack their things, and move on to the next stage of his education.</p>
<p>**<br/>It was easy enough to convince the Grolims that Torak wanted her to absent herself while he was busy with his unspecified work. She commanded horses for herself and Zarak, gathered the necessary supplies, and rode away from Ashaba the next morning.</p>
<p>Some of them tried to follow her, of course, but it was equally easy to put them off the track. Zarak, still a quiet and obedient boy, followed along without asking questions as they made their way across Mallorea.</p>
<p>Polgara wasn’t quite sure at first where they were going, but the fact that the restless feeling in her chest eased when they went in certain directions and became unbearable when they didn’t suggested that she was following Necessity wherever it might lead. As ever, she was a good servant, and modeled the same to her son.</p>
<p>“Mother,” he finally asked, when they were camping on the eastern border of Dalasia, “will we get to where we’re going soon?”</p>
<p>“I think so, my love.” She stroked his hair gently before turning back shepherding the fire into full life. </p>
<p>“What are we going to do then?”</p>
<p>“I need to teach you some things.” She wasn’t entirely sure <em>how</em>; a demigod was going to be far more powerful than she was, even a young one, even one bound to her by the deepest of ties. Hopefully the Necessity would guide her through that as well.</p>
<p>He sat quietly for a few moments, looking up at the stars. “Is it true that I’m going to become like Father one day?”</p>
<p>She bit back her surprise before it could show. Of course the Necessity was sneaking around, giving away information without bothering to let the other parties involved know. “Like him how, Zarak?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure.” He frowned, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees. “Just. I look at him sometimes and I get this feeling, like I’m supposed to take his place, be what he is. Do what he does. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>She took a deep breath and lay another bit of wood on the fire. “It does make sense. You’re his heir, after all. You’ll take his place when he’s gone, just like any son would.”</p>
<p>“But Father is a God.” So blunt, so straightforward, her son. “How can he be gone? How can I take over anything for him?”</p>
<p>There <em>must</em> be a way to do this simply. “The other Gods departed, you know.” He knew the Book of Angarak cover to cover, of course. The old volume and the new one, composed in his own honor.</p>
<p>“But he didn’t. Why would he change his mind now?”</p>
<p>She gave up her efforts and ordered the fire to maintain itself with a burst of Will and a muttered curse. Then she sat beside him and smoothed her skirts. “The world is very complicated, my love. Both the parts we can see, and everything going on beyond us.”</p>
<p>“I know about all that.”</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow at his impatience, and he subsided. <em>Her</em> son, always. “We’re moving into a time of even greater complication. Things are going to change rapidly, and not all of the changes can be predicted with any certainty. What you sense when you look at your father might be a true premonition, or it might be nothing at all. I can’t promise you either way. But I <em>can</em> promise that whatever happens, I will be at your side, Zarak. My strength is yours always.”</p>
<p>He looked up at her, studying her face closely, then nodded and leaned against her shoulder, pressing tight to her body until she wrapped him up in a hug. </p>
<p><em>I mean it</em>, she thought at the Necessity, wherever it might be. <em>I will be alongside him no matter what. Don’t ever try to separate us. I won’t have it.</em></p>
<p>It ignored her, of course. She hadn’t expected anything else. </p>
<p>But she meant what she said. Absolutely.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>They had time. Polgara reminded herself of that again and again, for all the years they spent in the wilderness. They had time for Zarak to learn and grow. There was time for her to train him. The Necessities could not meet until the time was right, and there would be signs before that came around, and—and there was time, that was all there was to it. She couldn’t allow herself to waste any of it worrying.</p>
<p>She taught Zarak everything she knew, then flew back to the rotting castle to search through Torak’s books for things she didn’t yet know. Her son caught on to those much more quickly than she did. Proof that his powers ran deeper than her own, and she was proud of that, <em>so</em> proud, not jealous, not even for a moment. </p>
<p><em>It’s not him you should be jealous of</em>, came a voice in her head—not the one she had heard for centuries now, but the <em>other</em> Necessity, the one she had walked away from. </p>
<p>“And why is that?” she asked aloud, stirring the fire. She and Zarak had discarded their tent for a fine little house over the years, though she had placed the main hearth on the site of their original campfire. Sentimentality got the best of her sometimes. Zarak was asleep, his room at the far end of the hall; if she chose to speak to destiny aloud, it would not disturb him, and so she could indulge her whim.</p>
<p><em>Your other self, your alternate self, the one who remained your father’s daughter. She would have been a great deal more important to the course of things than you have chosen to be.</em> Was there a note of amusement in the voice, or was that her imagination? <em>I would recommend being far more jealous of her.</em></p>
<p>“There’s no reason to be jealous of a hypothetical that by definition doesn’t exist.” Her hand was shaking, making the heavy iron poker shake, too. She set it aside and wiped her palm on her skirt. “You’re playing games and it’s unbecoming. Go away.”</p>
<p><em>You can’t send me away, Polgara. I’m far more powerful than you, after all. Any version of you, anywhere.</em> If the amusement had been real, it was gone now; the voice was simply stating facts. <em>And I don’t play games. I’m checking in with you for a reason.</em></p>
<p>“And what might that be?” Stiffening her spine, maintaining her tranquility and her defiance, it was all habitual by now. She had spent so many years being cold and removed, Torak’s queen on her throne of black glass, and before that Belgarath’s daughter, the mysterious, the untouchable. Allowing herself to be touched brought death, after all, so she’d stopped, and then she made her choice and came here, where she was too feared and worshiped to ever be human...</p>
<p><em>You will have a chance to choose again.</em> The voice’s calm was more than canceled out by the sudden, traitorous leap in Polgara’s heart. <em>There will be a moment—and you’ll know it when it comes—where you can step back to the other side if you want to, Pol. You won’t regain all of the importance you could have had, but a lot of it. You’ll change the course of everything.</em></p>
<p>“I’ve already done that once, haven’t I?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Touche.</em>
</p>
<p>She looked out the window, where protective trees grew too close to the house to see much. There were flowers further out, she had insisted on flowers, but they were invisible from here. It left her quite alone. “I can cross back again?”</p>
<p>
  <em>If you choose to.</em>
</p>
<p>Her throat ached. Her chest ached. She couldn’t let herself pretend to misunderstand, even for a moment. “And Zarak?”</p>
<p>There was what felt like a long pause, before the voice answered. That was answer enough. <em>Ah, Polgara.</em></p>
<p>“We have nothing to discuss, then.” She ought to smile around the threat of tears, but she was tranquil and defiant again. She was stiff-spined and surrounded by black glass again. “I will not leave my son. You may leave me now.”</p>
<p>And to give the Necessity the shred of credit it deserved, it departed without another word in her head, only the knowledge that another choice would come.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Polgara wouldn’t have known that the Grolims were moving Torak to the City of Endless Night if Zarak hadn’t told her. It rankled a bit, but she could hardly find an objection to the fact that he was more connected to these things than she was. As the Light’s Necessity had so kindly told her, she was less important on this side.</p>
<p>“They’re moving Father,” Zarak said over breakfast one day, his head cocked to the side and his eyes a bit dreamy. Porridge dropped from his spoon back into the bowl. At least that wasn’t causing a mess. </p>
<p>“Who is, darling?” Polgara’s fingers itched for a scrying-bowl, or to pull feathers about herself and take to the sky. “And to where, do you know?”</p>
<p>“The Grolims,” he said after a moment, his eyes darting back and forth behind half-closed lids. “They’re taking him north, and west. There’s a whole herd of horses pulling the wagon. Can’t they just lighten him, Mother? It’s easy enough to do.” </p>
<p>Her pride in the boy never wavered. “Easy enough for you and I, Zarak. For most Grolims, it would be much more difficult. They may not even be aware of the possibility, really.” Torak’s disciples were too busy with their little hobbies and feuds to teach anyone anything. The more powerful priests who tried to teach themselves based on old books and instinct probably ended up destroying themselves more often than they made ingenious discoveries. Safer for the world, unfortunate for the magical acumen of Angarak as a whole.</p>
<p>Perhaps she should have pushed for Torak to let her teach them, instead of bowing her head and taking her seat on the throne. Perhaps she should have been an active disciple herself, not only queen and wife. It might have been different.</p>
<p>She has a flash of memory: Torak's blazing eye-that-was-not and scornful eye-that-was. His mouth twisted in agony on one side and rage on the other. His Will choking her own. No, she could never have been a disciple in Angarak. She could never have trained the priests to her hand. There was too much threat to her husband’s power there, and she could <em>see</em> it, suddenly, how she could have used that power, woven it around herself and defied a God by stealing his worshippers. It would have been, if not easy, no more difficult than anything Aldur’s disciples had done.</p>
<p>Dangerous, she thought, shaking her head and bringing herself back to the moment. Very dangerous to indulge those thoughts. The fact that she was having them at all, even for a moment, spoke to the distance between herself and her husband, and to how deeply he slept. Still, she must be more careful. Defiance would not be permitted for long, once he woke again. She and Zarak would both have to be prepared to take to their knees if not bare their throats to their patriarch, king, and God.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>She felt it when Belgarath crossed the dividing line at the center of the Sea of the East. An agreement between Gods and disciples shattering did not happen quietly; the roar in her head was agonizing, and she dropped to her knees in the middle of the cottage, hands scrabbling at the floor. </p>
<p>Zarak was out walking, on a break from the studies that she lines up in front of him. Studying was their truest task, the one that never ended, she had told him so many times. Only then, huddled on the floor, did she remember that she learned that fact from Belgarath. </p>
<p>He was coming here, to Mallorea. Why was he coming here? Why was he defying the Gods? There could only be one reason, really. She never thought it would come so soon. She thought there would be more time.</p>
<p>“The Godslayer,” she said aloud, letting it become real. “The Godslayer is coming.”</p>
<p>There wasn't much time. She reached her mind out for Zarak, calling him back to her side, back to the house. She moved through the rooms in a daze, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and then dropping it again, putting things in a bag and then abandoning it; she could summon her things to her side whenever she wanted, after all. There was no reason to burden themselves with supplies.</p>
<p>Where was her son? He had replied to her outreached thought, said that he was on his way, but he hadn’t arrived yet. She stepped out into the small yard in front of the cottage, the one that she kept tidy to the point of pain, the warning zone before strangers could enter her domain.</p>
<p>Beldin was there, surrounded by the feathers of one of the small birds that lived around the cottage and sang to her every morning. “Did you have to do that?” she asked.</p>
<p>“The shape got the better of me,” he said. She knew him well enough, still, to know it was as close as he would come to an apology. “Diving, a little snack-sized thing crosses the path, it’s all instinct, you know. He was delicious, for what it’s worth.”</p>
<p>“Not much.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Belgarath has crossed the sea. You told me that was forbidden.”</p>
<p>“Well, yes.” He kicked at one of the clumps of feathers, dragging the bit of meat still clinging to the end through the dirt. “But the rules all go up in the air when a major Event is coming. You know that.”</p>
<p>“I suppose the meeting between the Godslayer and Torak is fairly significant.” Her voice sounded raw and biting to her own ears. This wasn’t what she wanted. None of it was.</p>
<p>“It’s as major as it comes. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.” He kicked at the bit of meat again, then looked at her. “Do you know if Burnt-face is ready?</p>
<p>“I don’t know anything about him at the moment.”</p>
<p>“A lie. If he was awake you would know it.” He looked positively eager to go off on a rant, but checked himself. “I suppose we should err on the side of him being in fighting form when the time comes.”</p>
<p>Her heart twisted in her chest. “So this is the end.”</p>
<p>He stared at her for a moment, his face twisting in puzzlement. “I <em>know</em> you know better than that, girl.”</p>
<p>She shouldn’t say anything. She should maintain the veil of mystery and puzzlement between the Dark and the Light. But the Necessity wasn’t closing off her words, so this must be allowed by the bizarre, fathomless rules, it must <em>mean</em> something. “If our side wins, it’s the end. If Torak—”</p>
<p>“You know better,” he said again, but before he could say anything else, the sound of Zarak’s running feet came up the pathway, and Beldin flickered and launched himself into the sky.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Her first impulse, even after all these years, is to go wolf for the journey north. Speed, efficiency, all the reasons her father ever gave for choosing the form, they all held true now. But Zarak stared at her in puzzlement, his cloak in his hands as she locked the cottage door.</p>
<p>“I’ve never seen a wolf, Mother,” he said. “I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to build that form.”</p>
<p>She had put aside the grief and guilt for a long time. The shock of that pain all over again, like a knife in her chest, left her steadying herself with her palm on the door.</p>
<p>“Mother?” Zarak hurried to her side. “Help me with it, I’m sure I can figure it out, it just might take some work.”</p>
<p>Polgara shook her head, forcing a smile and gently pushing Zarak back so she could gather her own cloak around herself and turn her face up toward the sky. </p>
<p>“We’ll go by air instead,” she said, her voice rough and grating in her throat, but firm enough that Zarak dropped his hand and nodded obediently. “Falcons, I think. We want to move quickly. You’ve used the falcon form before, haven’t you? Remember to focus on what you’re doing and try not to get distracted by movement below. We’ll never get to Cthol Mishrak if you’re chasing rabbits, dear.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mother.” He wrapped himself up, bowed his head for a moment, and then a dark-feathered falcon stood on the path in front of the cottage, talons flexing against the packed earth. </p>
<p>Polgara looked him over and permitted herself a smile of quiet pride. He was really quite talented, though of course there was no good to come from telling him so. She shimmered into her own falcon form and pushed herself up off the ground, wings clawing at the air until she could catch an updraft to lift them both the rest of the way into the good flying lanes.</p>
<p>Cutting an arc across the length of the continent was tiring, but the wind off the ocean helped them a good stretch of the way. They paused a few times, drifting down over patches of grassland to hunt and then assuming their human forms after eating so they could rest a while without the embarrassment of clutching dead mice in their hands. </p>
<p>Zarak was a quiet boy by nature, but he grew even more so with each stop they made. Polgara was tempted to ask him what was wrong, but she knew her son well enough to know he would resent efforts to draw him out. Besides, she could guess, given what she’d told him before they left, and what he knew from his studies, never mind what the Necessity might have been telling him all along or be whispering in his mind even as they flew.</p>
<p>Great, horrible forces were gathering themselves, preparing to collide. His own life, his mother’s, his father’s, would never be the same after whatever was to come in Cthol Mishrak. Of course he was quiet. </p>
<p>“Are you ready?” she asked once, getting to her feet after an hour’s rest in a farmer’s sheep field.</p>
<p>Zarak looked up, eyes dark and puzzled. “How did you know?”</p>
<p>“Know what?”</p>
<p>“That’s the question everyone’s been asking in my dreams for days.” He shook his head a little. “The Necessity. Father. A whole bunch of old men—they must be the disciples of someone or other, but I don’t know them. There’s a blindfolded girl, and a woman with stars under her skin, and then a tall blond boy with a sword. And they all ask me that.”</p>
<p>She stared at him, and for the first time, she didn’t see her beloved son, but Necessity’s pawn, another piece in the vast and incomprehensible game they were all forced to play.</p>
<p>And then he <em>was</em> her son again, between one breath and the next, frightened and looking to her for guidance.</p>
<p>“It’s a reasonable enough question, I suppose, my love,” she said, making her voice as warm as she could. “Come along, now. We’re losing time.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Polgara could feel her father’s presence long before they reach Cthol Mishrak. She dropped from the high level they were flying at without thinking, beginning a slow, shallow dive toward where he and his companions were making their way toward Torak’s abandoned city. Zarak cried out behind her, the falcon’s piercing voice tearing through the dead, empty zone left by the cloud cover and the God’s lingering presence.</p>
<p>Of course Belgarath and the other men—one the Godslayer, one unknown to her, though her memories of the Light’s prophecies left no option but the Guide—were capable of hearing a falcon’s cry where there shouldn’t be one. They stopped, forming a rough approximation of a circle with their backs to the center. The Guide pulled a knife from his belt, which was hardly worthy of notice, because the Godslayer drew his sword.</p>
<p>Polgara was just close enough in her dive to hear Belgarath’s voice carry on the wind. “Keep the Orb quiet, Garion! Otherwise every Grolim on the continent will know we’re here!”</p>
<p>“I’m trying, Grandfather! But it isn’t happy!”</p>
<p><em>Grandfather</em>.</p>
<p>The word knocked into Polgara like a well-thrown rock. The difference between <em>knowing</em> that the Godslayer was the descendant of Beldaran and Riva—the product of her great, abandoned Task—and confronting that fact head-on, was nearly too much for her to bear. Her falcon’s heart was racing in her chest, nearly to the point of bursting, and a scream tore from her own throat. Not a plaintive call like Zarak’s, but a scream of pure emotional pain, one that no true bird would be able to make. Animals didn’t know the grief that wracked her.</p>
<p>Belgarath stepped forward, gesturing for the others to be still. “Polgara?”</p>
<p>She landed awkwardly, wings lashing out to steady herself as her talons clawed at the ground. He stepped forward and she flailed again, the falcon’s instincts screaming to flee, her own responses leaden and slow.</p>
<p>“Pol,” he said again, his voice shaking. “My girl. Take your own form back. Speak to me.”</p>
<p>Zarak landed nearby and changed form in an explosion of feathers. “Get away from her!”</p>
<p>Belgarath’s eyes barely flicked toward the boy, but Polgara felt the unfurling of his Will. Zarak brought up a counter to it before it could strike him, and the <em>boom</em> of force meeting resistance sent the scrubby trees of northwest Mallorea trembling for miles.</p>
<p>Belgarath blinked, steadying himself. “So you’re the one,” he said. “How interesting.”</p>
<p>“Grandfather,” the Godslayer said. “Should I use the Orb?”</p>
<p>Somehow that was what brought Polgara back to herself, that very idea, the horror that would come from it. She changed back to her own form, raising her hand toward Zarak to tell him to hold his ground. “What did your grandfather tell you just a moment ago?” she asked, fixing the boy with a stern glare. “If you use it here you’ll bring the Grolims running, and they’re not <em>all</em> useless.”</p>
<p>The boy’s eyes widened, before he squared his shoulders and set his jaw. “You would know, I suppose. You’re their queen, aren’t you? The witch queen. The bride of Torak.”</p>
<p>“Witch queen?” She stared at him for a moment, then looked at Belgarath. “I’m not so arrogant as to call myself more than a dabbler in witchcraft, old man. Who’s been letting that idea get around? It’s insulting to both me and true witches, frankly.”</p>
<p>“I do my best to sort it out when I have a chance, but I can’t be everywhere at once, Polgara.”</p>
<p>She felt his mind reach toward hers—slowly, cautiously, ready to draw back if she lashed out or to let her withdraw in turn—and then his voice echoed in her mind. <em>Gods, I’ve missed you.</em></p>
<p>She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the impulses to shudder, to scream, to run into his arms. She couldn’t do any of that. She had to maintain control. She had to protect Zarak. </p>
<p>“This is my son,” she said, looking away from Belgarath before she could see if there were tears in his eyes, or he could see her own. “Zarak, heir to Torak, future King and God of all Angarak.”</p>
<p>The Godslayer made a strange, groaning sound; when she glanced at him, she saw that he had placed his hand over the Orb like he was physically fighting with it to remain quiet. “A monster,” he said through clenched teeth. “Silk, we have to do something.”</p>
<p>Silk. A strange name for a Guide. She looked him over and didn’t see much worth remarking on, but he had gotten them this far, after all. There must be something under the surface. He spoke before she had to warn the Godslayer what would happen if he threatened her son.</p>
<p>“We’re on his land, Garion, in front of his mother, and on our way to kill his father. I don’t think there’s very much we can do here and now that won’t blow up spectacularly in our faces. Wouldn’t you agree, Belgarath?”</p>
<p>The old man was studying Zarak with unreadable eyes. The boy gazed back at him steadily, unafraid, and Polgara wanted to burst into beams of light out of sheer pride. Yes, <em>this</em> was her son, look on him, First Disciple of Aldur, look what she did without your help, look what she made, look what would change the world.</p>
<p>“He does show a certain promise,” Belgarath said, as if he could hear her thoughts. He glanced over at the Guide and the Godslayer and shook his head. “We don’t put a finger on him, understood? The Necessity was very clear on that. He won’t be allowed to touch us, either. It’s not his time yet.” His gaze flicked back to Polgara again. “Do you understand, Pol?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” It made sense; one of the pieces left behind by the Necessity over the decades clicking into place in her mind, as they tended to do. Torak’s time wasn’t over yet. Zarak’s time wouldn’t begin until it was. They would simply wait while this final piece played out. “Zarak, darling, you heard him as well, and I’m sure our mutual friend has spoken to you. Obey the rules of this meeting.”</p>
<p>“Mother.” She could hear the longing to argue, could tell he was holding it back through real effort, just as the Godslayer was trembling with rage and being held back only by Belgarath’s stern glare. Still, both of them <em>did</em> hold their places, at least. She would hate to have wasted all that time she spent bringing Zarak up.</p>
<p>“We might as well go the rest of the way to the city together,” Belgarath said, drawing his cloak around his shoulders. “Since none of us can harm the others, it’s just a good use of time and energy. Don’t you agree?”</p>
<p>Polgara nodded in agreement, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh. So this is where her path led, after all these centuries of staying as far away from him as she could. Walking by her father’s side into one of the final challenges of the great game.</p>
<p>“Lead the way, old man,” she said, and they set off across the dead ground toward Cthol Mishrak.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The Godslayer’s presence woke Torak, not Polgara’s, and yet she still found herself trembling in a wave of longing and fear as the God’s consciousness fully returned to himself. She hated Torak and she loved him; she wanted to rush to his side and she was desperate to flee the tower, flee the city, flee Mallorea, because if he put together that she was the one who put him to sleep, he would condemn her to torture unending.</p>
<p><em>He won’t know it was you</em>, the Dark Necessity murmured in her mind. <em>We have an agreement about that. Besides, our boy’s not much for looking back, only forward. He’s not interested in why he was sleeping. He just wants to cut Belgarion to pieces.</em></p>
<p>Belgarion. Her sister’s ultimate child. Her own ultimate nephew, and her father’s ultimate grandson, all made plain in his name. An Alorn prince had begun his line of sires, and nearly all the races of man were woven into him, but in the end, they were all invisible. The family of Aldur’s disciples were what mattered.</p>
<p>But she wasn’t part of that family anymore. She had walked away. How could she stand by their side now, at the moment of the great conflict?</p>
<p><em>Should I leave?</em> she asked, but the Necessity had left again, of course. Always, right when it might accidentally do something useful. Polgara drew a rough breath and watched her husband step from his tomb, Chtrek Goru in his hand.</p>
<p>Zarak stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee, head bowed. “Father. Welcome back.”</p>
<p>“My son.” Torak’s voice echoed in the strange space of the room, simultaneously vast and small. “It is well and fitting that you are here to greet me. My blessings on you, and your mother.” He looked at Polgara, the blaze of the eye-that-was-not flaring briefly, and Polgara clenched her hands at her sides.</p>
<p>It was familiar, the terror of his gaze upon her, the pressure of his will, but—but something was wrong. Different. Yes, his will was directed toward her, and it was far stronger than her own, but it wasn’t the crushing wave she had felt at Vo Mimbre and so many other times over their years together. He was distracted, half of his attention on the Godslayer—on Belgarion—even though the boy had not yet stepped forward or spoken. Torak knew where he was and what was going to happen, and the anxiety of that knowledge left him unable to bring Polgara to heel as effortlessly as he always had.</p>
<p>She shuddered, twisting her hands in the folds of her dress under her cloak. If Torak couldn’t overwhelm her, then anything she did here would truly be her choice. Her own will and mind.</p>
<p><em>I did try to tell you, Pol</em>, the Light Necessity said, pleased with itself as ever. <em>You will have a choice to make tonight. Not the same one you would have faced if you’d stayed with the Light—the changes in the paths have rewritten so much—but a choice nonetheless, and one with great consequences for all the universe.</em></p>
<p>The fabric of her dress tore under her fingernails, but she still couldn’t stop clutching at it. <em>I can’t. I’m not ready. Give it to someone else.</em></p>
<p>The sigh in her mind was so great she looked up thinking it would rattle the tower. But the physical world remained motionless and indifferent. <em>Oh, Polgara. You know better. Chin up and back straight. Don’t embarrass yourself now, after all this time.</em></p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The God and the Godslayer grew to massive proportions and dueled out their rage. The air of Cthol Mishrak, sodden and reeking of death, muffled the sounds of their battle, but not enough to keep every clash of their swords from sending Polgara shuddering. She didn’t know when the moment of her choice would come, but she wanted to wait for as long as possible, push it back, protect herself from the idea of casting an entire life aside and walking away <em>again</em>.</p>
<p>She didn’t have to do that; she could stay where she was and guide Zarak through whatever the Necessity had in store for him once he replaced his father. Because Torak <em>would</em> fall tonight; Polgara knew it all the way down to her bones, and there was no point in trying to hide from it. Torak would fall, the kingship and the godhead would fall to Zarak, and he would either have her at his side—or he would be alone.</p>
<p>She couldn’t leave her son alone, with no one to help him bear the burdens of not just this world, but the universe. She could never doom him to the isolation and fear that cut through Torak every moment of every day. Not when he hadn’t been born to it, not when he had pieces of humanity in him as well, ones that would have to be burned to ashes in order for him to fully come into his power. How could anyone bear to go through that alone?</p>
<p><em>Not yet, Polgara</em>, murmured both voices in her mind at once. <em>It’s not time for you to choose yet. Be patient. You’ll know.</em></p>
<p>Zarak stood nearby, his hands loose at his sides, his head tilted back to watch his father fighting for his life. Polgara couldn’t tell if his stillness and the blank look on his face were his own response or if the Necessity was holding him still. A few paces away, Belgarath and the Guide also stood and watched, though their faces twisted in response to each move in the fight. Only the four of them here, humans and disciples, waiting helplessly while the Children of Light and Dark dragged events to the point where a choice would have to be made. </p>
<p>When the Godslayer struck—when Torak cried out for his mother—</p>
<p>Polgara’s heart twisted in her chest, and her mind rang with the sound of breaking chains. She grieved, truly, for the loss of her husband and the father of her son; for all that she was powerful, she believed in the power of those bonds, in what they meant, in the grief Zarak would feel and that she <em>should</em> feel, had she ever been a proper wife. </p>
<p>But at the same time, her body shivered with frantic energy. The weight of Torak’s will had been on her even as he slept, and now she was free of it. Her mind was truly and completely her own. She could do anything, she could choose as she wanted. The Necessities had no claim on her, for a single breathless moment.</p>
<p>The earth shook with Torak’s fall, and Zarak cried out.</p>
<p>He went to his knees, one hand stretching out toward his father, the other toward the sky, and Polgara forgot herself, her sudden freedom, her muddled grief, as a cloud of darkness rose from Torak’s body. It was painted through with tiny, swirling dots of light, but there was no question that this was darkness, no question which Necessity was moving from one Child to the next. Polgara could only watch as it moved from her fallen husband to her frozen son, settled over him, and sank inward through his skin.</p>
<p>Zarak fell forward and caught himself with palms flat on the ground. He coughed and shook his head, body shuddering, back arching.</p>
<p>And when he lifted his head again, his face was no longer his own. He was no longer her son.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The newly-born Child of Dark rose to his feet, eyes moving slowly around the wreckage to note each of the humans who had watched his fall and rebirth. He did not brush the dirt from his hands or knees, which sent a sharp pang through Polgara’s heart. Zarak had always been neat and tidy; she had impressed the importance of that on him since he was a little boy.</p>
<p>The Dark Necessity apparently saw no need for fastidiousness to go in the mix of remaking its champion.</p>
<p>“We are still in a moment of truce.” The Godslayer spoke, but the voice belonged to his Necessity, flat and distant. “Ensure that neither your former Child’s servants or your current Child will act out, please.”</p>
<p>“I have protected the area from the servants.” The voice that came from Zarak’s mouth was equally distant. “And the new Child of Dark is under my control. He understands what is expected of him.”</p>
<p>“An exciting change for you, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“This is neither the time nor the place.” Zarak turned stiffly, his body clearly a new marionette, the puppeteer’s hands not yet adept on the strings. “Queen of Darkness—well, Dowager Queen now, I suppose—step forward.”</p>
<p>All eyes turned to Polgara. She did as she was bid, of course—she always had, hadn’t she?—holding her head high and her shoulders square. </p>
<p>The Godslayer moved forward so he and Zarak stood before her, each an equal distance from her and each other. A perfect triangle. </p>
<p>The Child of Light spoke first. “Although our great game is nearly done, there is still a final round to play.”</p>
<p>“You must choose,” the Child of Dark said. “This side, or the other. Guiding your son, or joining the pawns in motion behind the name of the Light.”</p>
<p>The Child of Light sighed in patient exasperation. “Stop editorializing.”</p>
<p>“It’s true.”</p>
<p>“She’s far too clever to fall for a bit of wordplay like that. Show her some respect.”</p>
<p>“Stop trying to win her over through flattery.” The Child of Dark’s eyes flicked back to Polgara. “You must choose.”</p>
<p>“The time is here,” the Child of Light agreed. “Choose, Polgara. You have walked both paths; they converge again before you now before splitting apart again. Make your choice.”</p>
<p>Polgara gazed into the Child of Dark’s eyes, looking for any scrap of her son. She pressed her mind as close as she dared, knowing the Necessity could knock her away more easily than she would brush aside a fly, searching for any echo of Zarak in the person before her. She knew Zarak better than anyone in the world. Better than she had known Beldaran. Better than she knew her father. Zarak had dreamed beneath her heart.</p>
<p>There was nothing of him there. Nothing that could reach the surface. </p>
<p>The Child of Dark met her eyes, and she heard the familiar voice of the Dark Necessity in her mind. <em>I learned with Torak that it’s better to put my will in place as completely as possible. The struggles between him and I were really the sole reason for so much that happened. I assure you, Zarak feels no fear or pain.</em></p>
<p>“So it wouldn’t be my son that I would guide,” she answered softly. “It would be you.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I can approximate him perfectly. There would be no difference.</em>
</p>
<p>“Then why did you tell me?”</p>
<p>The Child of Dark’s eyebrow rose in a meaningful arch. <em>I do believe that things should be fair, after all. Choices should be made cleanly.</em></p>
<p>Polgara looked away, at the Godslayer and her father behind him, his hand clenched tightly around the wrist of the Guide, who did look like the type to run off and cause trouble if not physically restrained. “They’ll never trust me.”</p>
<p>
  <em>No. But that’s never kept you from your duty before.</em>
</p>
<p>“It is time and past time,” the Child of Light cut in. “Make your choice, Polgara, or it will be made by default.”</p>
<p>Polgara took a shaky breath. “Before I choose, may I say goodbye?”</p>
<p>The Child of Light’s eyebrow rose in the exact same way as his opposite’s. “To whom?”</p>
<p>“That will signal my choice, won’t it? Whoever I bid farewell, I’ve chosen the opposite.” She took a breath that hurt far more than it should. “Please?”</p>
<p>The Children glanced at each other and shrugged in unison. “Very well,” the Child of Dark said. “Get on with it.”</p>
<p>Polgara stepped up to the body that had been her son’s, cupped its face in her hands, and kissed him carefully on the forehead. “Let him sleep,” she said quietly. “Please, let him never be aware of this. Of any of it. Let his memory stop when Torak fell.”</p>
<p>“I intended that to be so,” the Necessity said, “and so it shall be.”</p>
<p>Polgara turned and walked away, leaving her heart behind her.</p>
<p>She walked past the Child of Light without a glance, not caring to see if it was still the Necessity or the Godslayer who occupied the body. Belgarion. She would have to remember that the name belonged to a person now, one she would have to get to know and learn to work with, no longer a random scrap of prophecy.</p>
<p>She walked to her father and lifted her chin. “Well, old man,” she said, her voice shaking more than she had ever allowed it before. She couldn’t stop it. She could only hold on to her dignity so far that she didn’t cry. “We’re on the same side again, it seems.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He looked at her for a long, careful moment, then offered his arm. “Come on, Pol. We won’t talk any  more today, but we do need to get moving.”</p>
<p>It was the greatest mercy she could think of, in that moment. The love in her heart that had always fought with her head when it came to Belgarath stubbornly stirred yet again.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Apparently the petty Emperor and the generals in Mal Zeth had decided to go to war while Polgara was otherwise engaged and Torak was asleep. Their small group’s journey back to the lands of the West involved considerable travel through the smoking wreckage of a great many lives. Beldin descended to join them periodically, reporting back from the kings—and, apparently, Imperial Princess—leading things, as well as with news from the twins, who had retreated from the battle lines back to the Vale.</p>
<p>“The prophecies are vomiting up new information as fast as they can since Burnt-face is dead,” Beldin said, sipping from a mug of beer he had produced out of nowhere without offering to do the same for anyone else. “Beltira and Belkira are ecstatic to be back to working on them full-time. No offense, Garion, raising you was a joy for them, but they’ve always been bookish at heart.”</p>
<p>“I understand completely,” Belgarion said. “I remember when I was little and would drag them away from their books to play, how they would always come with me but with a sad look back.”</p>
<p>“Well, now they’re face-down in scrolls and happier than pigs in slop.” Beldin finished his beer and threw the mug in a low arc toward the woods; it vanished halfway there. “They’ve got a vague sense of what might be coming, though mostly it’s hints and lists of its little code-names without any context.”</p>
<p>“The daughter of the Ancient and Beloved is returned,” the Guide said with heavy irony. “That must be fairly significant. Maybe half a page on its own.”</p>
<p>Beldin produced another beer and squinted at him. “You’re not wrong, but you could be less snide about it. You’re lucky Polgara hasn’t turned you into a toad by now.”</p>
<p>“She’s on her best behavior, since no one here trusts her any further than they could throw her.”</p>
<p>Belgarath raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself, Silk.”</p>
<p>“I’m speaking at least for myself and Garion, Holy One.”</p>
<p>“But not for me.” Belgarath pinned him with a sharp gaze, then turned back to Beldin, only pausing to tilt his head slightly at Polgara. “Anything specific about her role yet, Beldin?”</p>
<p>“No details, but she has a new name.” Beldin took another swallow and belched. “Apparently changing sides twice is what it takes to get the Necessity to treat her as her own person instead of your or Torak’s  appendage.”</p>
<p>“That’s a fight to have with the Necessity, not with me.” Belgarath shook his head. “What is it calling her now?”</p>
<p>“You remember all the references to the Queen of Wolves?”</p>
<p>Belgarath frowned. “We all thought those were old references to Poledra.” The pain in his voice as he spoke the name made Polgara flinch as it echoed in her own heart.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, it’s the usual clouded-mind effect. Now we can see that they’re not about the past at all, and they’re all about Polgara. ”</p>
<p>Belgarath turned his head to look at her, a faint smile playing around his mouth. His eyes were still dark with pain, and Polgara forced herself to meet them directly, unwavering. “The Queen of Wolves,” he said softly.</p>
<p>“So it seems.” Beldin was quiet for a moment, then tossed this mug aside to follow the first. “Well. Best to get back on the road. The kings and generals are waiting for you, and they’re much more impatient than the twins. You need to take care of them before you can get home and start going through the new notes on the Codexes.”</p>
<p>“When you’re right, you’re right.” Belgarath looked up at the sky for a moment. “Garion, you and Silk keep the horses. Just keep following the same road we’re on, and don’t go adventuring.”</p>
<p>“What are you and she going to do?” Belgarion asked.</p>
<p>Belgarath smiled faintly. “Pol? Would you like to practice putting on your new name?”</p>
<p>It took a moment for her to understand what he meant, and a shudder ran through her. “I’m not sure... it doesn’t seem entirely appropriate to...”</p>
<p>“We must live looking forward, Pol,” he said softly. “Even when our pasts are heavy.”</p>
<p>She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. Calling up the image of the wolf in her mind was agony. Gathering her will and pushing herself into the shape was horror.</p>
<p>But when she stood on four paws in the center of the road, with the silvery-maned wolf beside her, for the first time it truly seemed possible that she might be able to go home again.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>